by Corry Shores
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The summer moon sails our night sky, so quickly all is dizzy. The exit-way from the forest trees is darkened in shadows bathing behind the canopy above, who converts star-light to shade it rains below, a photo-analysis breaking-down light to its inner partition: black and motion. As waves of darkness cascade with varying rhythms, and crash softly against our lid-closed eyes, their strobe-like patterns, alternating frequencies of dark and shadow, accelerate and stutter the pace of our dreams. We lying in forest shade, under the dense woolen blanket of lightless air, see such marvelous virtual movies more technico-futurismic than any digital simulator, more primitive than all instincts combined. Where past and future are now and now and now and now and now . . . . When subtle suggestions are prophesies, and hints are truths uncovered. The diamond star studded sky is our cosmos. Deities demonstrate by stable circled motions, most magnificent innumerable jewels, gods, immortalized men telling stories through location relations. Spirals and fractals and infinity. These are the nested gems of dreams and wonder. All night we die. Morning be we buried. We awake: the world is still creation.
Richard Stadler is a remarkable artist who invents new media of creation (his is an art artist, or meta-artist, if you will). He asked me to write a short story. Some of his many new forms may be sampled here:
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